


Steal Your Heart

by mollus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Architectural Burglary, Banter, Criminal Mastermind Steve Rogers, FBI Agent James "Bucky" Barnes, Flirting While Fighting, Heists, Interrogation, M/M, Nice Suits, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 11:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollus/pseuds/mollus
Summary: Special Agent James Buchanan Barnes was tired.Not that that was a particularly new occurrence. He was a busy man with a busy job.But there was tired, and then there was Steve Rogers tired.He heaved a sigh, and entered the interrogation room.Steve Rogers, criminal enterprise extraordinaire, waved from his position lounging back in the chair in front of the desk. His other hand was busy spinning the set of handcuffs, which had formerly been tightly shackled around his wrists and to the desk, around one finger.





	Steal Your Heart

Special Agent James Buchanan Barnes was tired.

Not that that was a particularly  _ new  _ occurrence. He was a busy man with a busy job. 

But there was tired, and then there was  _ Steve Rogers tired _ .

He heaved a sigh, and entered the interrogation room. 

Steve Rogers, criminal enterprise extraordinaire, waved from his position lounging back in the chair in front of the desk. His other hand was busy spinning the set of handcuffs, which had formerly been tightly shackled around his wrists and to the desk, around one finger. 

Bucky crossed the room, and settled into the other chair. He set down his coffee first, and then the enormous stack of binders and folders he had tucked under one arm. He spent a few moments reworking the mess into a neat and orderly pile, and then finally set a pen down to the left of it, aligning it perfectly with the edge of the stack. 

He looked up, and laced his fingers in front of him. Steve grinned cheekily back at him, and winked. One arm was now draped behind the chair, and he was still swinging the handcuffs.

Bucky felt his left eye twitch, and resisted the urge to rub it. 

“Agent Barnes!” Rogers said cheerfully. He finally stopped the motion of the handcuffs, tossing them onto the table with a clatter, and sat up. “Always a pleasure to see you again. You look, hmm, I can’t say well-rested exactly, but at least alert? Is that a new tie?”

Bucky glared at him.

“Ah, the good old silent treatment,” Steve continued, unphased. “I’m assuming that’s the second thing they teach you in the Academy, right after how to look good in that much blue.”

Bucky sighed. “Mr. Rogers, we’ve brought you in here today --”

“Oh, it’s the royal ‘we’ now, is it?”

Bucky glared harder at the man, and Rogers fell silent, albeit with another grin.

“We’ve brought you in today to discuss a pattern we’ve seen.”

“Oh?” Rogers raised an eyebrow. “A sewing pattern? A pattern on a seashell? You will need to be more specific. I have many interests.”

“A pattern,” Bucky ground out, “of criminal activity, that always seems to have you at the very center of it.” He tapped the stack of papers for emphasis.

“Well, my, my,” Rogers replied, eyes wide. “Whatever could you be talking about? I lead a very boring life. Truly humdrum.”

“Then why don’t I start at the beginning of it,” Bucky said evenly. He grabbed the first folder off the stack, and placed it in front of him, flipping it open. 

“Shall we indeed,” Steve answered. 

_ 4 Years Previous _

Bucky had been just twenty five, barely six months out of the training program at Quantico and working so very hard to get noticed that he could barely remember the last time he’d caught more than six hours of sleep. He’d been assigned the case with his first partner, Becket, who’d been only a year from retirement and talked more about his prized sailing boat than any cases they were given. 

“So you’re saying,” he asked the man, “that they cut a hole in the wall of your establishment,

_ next _ to the locked door? And just happened to cut the hole in the wall  _ exactly _ where the wires were to the alarm system?” He tapped his pen on his pad of paper.

“Yeah!” the owner said. “We didn’t hear nothing! There was just the hole!”

“And they didn’t take anything,” Bucky continued.

“Nope, just broke in.” the man insisted, running a hand through his oily hair. Bucky caught the flash of gold teeth as he spoke.

Bucky glanced at his partner back at the car, where he appeared to be yawning. “You know,” he said conversationally, “Weird place to break into, a laundromat.”

“I… yeah,” the first man said, glancing at his companion. “I guess.”

Bucky casually looked around the place, where several of the machines had large OUT OF ORDER signs hung prominently on their fronts. The floor needed washing several months, if not years ago, and there were wires hanging out of the ceiling. 

“Seems like it,” Bucky said. “Well, I’ll need a full report of everything that was broken, and to go out back and look around. Take pictures of the damage, you understand.”

“Well,” the guy said, backpedaling. “You can get a good idea from the outside, right? You don’t need to look around anywhere else.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want a thorough record of what was broken so you can claim it for insurance?”

“Look, man,” the second guy cut in, “we can take care of the insurance. We just thought we should keep the cops… informed.” He flashed a smile at Bucky. The light glinted off the shoulders of his nice suit. Bucky would hazard a guess at Armani.

Bucky frowned, but then Becket spoke up from where he’d walked up to Bucky.    
  
“Alright then, gentlemen, we’ll get some pictures for you and your records of the outside. Barnes, with me.” He gestured at Bucky to follow him around the back of the building. 

“Barnes, seriously, just leave it be for once,” he muttered to him. “They don’t want our help so we don’t do anything we don’t have to, especially for these jokers.”

New enough to still believe his partner had his best interests at heart, Bucky dropped it. They took some pictures, filed the report, and let it go. 

Two days later, two women that had been reported missing appeared in a police station across the city. They had no idea where they’d been held, only reporting a strange smell like bleach and other chemicals. 

_ Present Day _

“Oddly enough,” Bucky commented, “your first job was with Stars and Stripes Architectural Design, which was, what, one block from that place? The firm told us you finished up with them less than two months after the break-in.”

“Odd enough indeed,” Steve shrugged. “What do you want me to say? We don’t  _ all _ work for the same organization our entire lives.”

“Apparently not,” Bucky agreed. “Just an interesting coincidence.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “If you’d like to call it that. Perhaps we have different ideas about interesting things.” His eyes glinted. “Personally, I find fine dining with intelligent companions  _ much _ more interesting.” 

Bucky coughed, and moved the folder over. He took the next binder down from the stack, and placed it in front of him. 

“Moving on…”

_ Three Years Previous _

  
  


Bucky had finally ditched Becket after he had  _ twice _ prolonged his retirement to put more money aside for that damn boat. Moving up to special agent, he was on his own, taking care of his own caseload and working through his own problems. 

Bucky surveyed the cordoned off yard of the crime scene. Looking up, he took a moment to take in the majesty of the old manor house. Austere and tasteful, featuring Victorian stylings and extensively manicured lawns and gardens, it seemed to exude the smell of money and class from every eave. 

Bucky ducked under the tape and headed in. 

He worked his way through the milling officers and forensic people taking pictures and samples and followed the sound of the hustle and bustle to the group of city police officers examining the scene of the crime. One woman spotted his Feds jacket and headed straight over to him. 

“You the point for this?” She asked, pulling out her notebook. 

“I’m the one. What happened, in as brief terms as possible?”

“Weirdest burglary I’ve been to,” She reported, shrugging and waving a hand behind her. “He’s got a beauty of an alarm system on every inch of the outside of this room, and it didn’t matter a whit.”

“Why’s that?” Bucky frowned.

“Because they came down through the roof and from the inside of the house.”

“What?”

“Near as we can tell, they came down a frigging dumb waiter that the owner didn’t even know they  _ had _ , it had been boarded up and covered over so completely. Alarm system was set up for anyone trying to break  _ in _ , not come  _ out _ , so…”

“So?”

“So they carted everything out the servant’s entrances in the back of the house.”

Bucky blinked. “You’re not serious.”

“As a murder.” The woman shook her head. “Absolutely goddamned ridiculous.”

Bucky rubbed his forehead. “What did they take?”

“Just a few things. Some ornamental pieces from overseas. From the way the owner was screaming, they were acquired with ‘great difficulty’ and held ‘specific value’. Completely clammed up when we asked precisely who he got them from, though. That’s when we called you guys.”

“Great,” Bucky grimaced. “You get a list of what the items were exactly from the guy? I’ll have to talk to him eventually, but I’d like to be more informed when I do.”

The woman grinned at him. “You sure do. He’s got quite the set of lungs on him. Anyways, got the list over there with Jenkins, maybe I’ll meet you outside with it? Get away from some of the mess in here.”

“Sure thing.”

Bucky wound his way back outside, doing his best to avoid his fellow officers. As he went, he couldn’t help but notice the decorations in the house -- the owner clearly had a taste for what they deemed exotic. Bucky saw Native American paintings, weaponry from Ghana and Namibia, sculptures and ornaments from Australia and Indonesia. There were many items Bucky was sure belonged in a museum, not a house.

He finally made it out of the house, and stopped for a moment on the front step to breathe. A small crowd had gathered, obviously drawn by the police tape and commotion. 

Letting his eyes drift over the crowd, he suddenly halted as they met, and matched, a smaller man on the edge of the group. Unlike the rest of the people, he wasn’t staring at the house or talking to the others. He stood with an air of practiced nonchalance, his hands in the pockets of a bespoke navy suit. Golden hair was neatly smoothed back from his forehead, and eyes that took in everything betrayed his relaxed posture. Eyes that were staring straight at Bucky. 

Bucky stared evenly back at the man. 

The man then leaned over to the redhead standing next to him, that Bucky hadn’t even noticed. He whispered something in her ear, and they both turned to leave. 

But not before the man shot him a wink.

_ Present Day _

“We found out later that the plans for the house available through the local library, as the house was registered as a historic property with the city.” Bucky glanced up from his file. 

Rogers leaned back, and laced his hands over his stomach. 

“Were they now? That wouldn’t surprise me. I love my library, did you know they have information on the most useful little things? Like, for example…”

Rogers let the silence stretch for a moment, staring Bucky down. 

“...typing classes. Tuesday evenings! So great to bring up my average words per minute.” He grinned a Cheshire cat smile at Bucky.

Bucky’s eye started twitching again. 

“Now mind you,” Rogers continued, “I do have much better uses for a Tuesday night. With the proper accompaniment, of course. White or red, Agent Barnes?”

“Are we having fish or steak?” Bucky snapped back without thinking, and winced. 

Rogers opened his mouth, and Bucky held up a hand. 

“No, nevermind,” he growled, and dragged the next folder off the pile.

  
  


_ One Year Previously _

Bucky glared at the warehouse, so bustling days ago, and now silent as a tomb. Police tape stretched wrapped around the building, and street lights glinted off a layer of broken window glass. 

A week ago, this warehouse had been a hotbed of gang activity. Constant movement in and out, uncontrollable noise, cars driving past at all hours of the day and night. 

And the police hadn’t been able to even get on the street.

The entire neighborhood had been slowly but surely infiltrated by members of the gang. They’d moved in and eventually “convinced” anyone that wasn’t part of things to leave the area completely, and then just as surely they’d completely closed off the area. It hadn’t mattered what people outside of the neighborhood saw or heard -- to go in there as a solo officer was a death sentence. The last undercover agent sent in had suddenly disappeared two weeks ago, only two days after they’d started their assignment. 

No one could get in, and no evidence was getting out. Local enforcement had given up; no one wanted a suicide mission. The best they could do was try to watch the area -- they didn’t even have enough evidence to send in a force.

It was a stalemate.

That is, until four days ago. 

At 3am, security alarms had begun to blare at the back entrance of the warehouse. They hadn’t even known there  _ were  _ security alarms back there. Bucky had wanted to send a team in, see what they could find in the ruckus, but the head brass had deemed it too risky. From the limited surveillance they did have, they watched gang members descend like flies. But nothing had seemed to come from it. 

Until the next morning, when three large packages appeared on the front doorstep of the police commissioner. 

They contained three crates of pure cocaine, and a bright red folder. In it were startlingly clear pictures, taken inside the warehouse, of deals going down. There were several of suspected leaders undergoing explicitly incriminating activities. And a thumb drive -- containing all the ledgers and financial information that gave a paper trail to the gang’s activities.

That had finally been enough for the brass to send in a force, and a combined team of local officers and FBI agents had stormed the area. They’d rounded up everyone they could, making over 150 arrests. 

One thing they did not find, however, was the money. 

All the accounts the gang had controlled were completely wiped clean, moved to offshore accounts. Those offshore accounts had then been bounced around through several other accounts, and then the trail had come to an end. The money had somehow completely disappeared off the grid.

Bucky stared up at the skyline, examining the building again. He let his eyes trace along that fine, fine glimmer that was the explanation for the whole debacle.

Bucky rolled his shoulders back, and turned to go. 

And stopped, startled by the man standing about 5 feet away from him, also staring up at the building. 

“Sir, this is a-” Bucky started, and then inhaled quickly as the man flicked his eyes over to Bucky.

He recognized this man. Or, he recognized that stare. The one that had gazed out at him from the crowd at that burglary that stumped them all two years ago, which had led to the owner getting twelve years for smuggling. 

This time is was a sharp blue suit with a pale grey tie, nicely fitted enough to speak of excellent tailoring, but nondescript enough to blend in with a crowd. His hair was as perfectly slicked back as before, and he stood taller than his short stature seemed to allow, his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Was just taking a walk around the old neighborhood,” the man replied. “Surely that’s not a crime, officer…?”

“Barnes,” Bucky’s traitorous mouth replied, before he stopped to think. “It isn’t, but this still isn’t exactly the safest place to be, uh… broken glass, and all.”  _ Really, Barnes, that was the best you could come up with? _

The man looked down at his shoe, toeing a piece of it away. His oxfords shone under the street lights, and he looked back up.

“Yes, time to continue my stroll, I think. Have a good evening, officer Barnes.” He smiled, turned, and wandered off down the street.

Bucky watched him until he turned the corner and disappeared from sight, and had never felt more strongly in his life that there was something he was missing. 

_ Present Day _

Bucky spread a layer of photos across the desk. “What exactly am I looking at, Mr. Rogers?”

Rogers quirked an eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell me…  _ Agent _ .”

Bucky glared at him. “Surely a smart man such as yourself knows what a highwire line looks like.”

The largest picture, squarely under Bucky’s left hand, demonstrated them most clearly. High wires, more delicate and imperceptible than Bucky had ever seen, strung along the telephone lines leading onto the roof of the building. 

“These, of course,” Bucky continued, “Led us to the roof, which led us to several  _ missing drop panels in the ceilings _ , which led us to the  _ perfect sightlines found in the pictures _ .”

“You  _ don’t _ say,” Rogers commented. “Fascinating, really -”

“But what got me,” Bucky interrupted, “What  _ really _ got me was the hardware that our expert explained only a harnessing system matched, one that had clearly been in place for weeks.  _ Weeks _ , Mr. Rogers. Meaning whoever took those photos knew exactly where to hide in that building to not only get good photos, but  _ also _ not get caught by the  _ dozens _ of people in there on an average basis.”

Bucky didn’t mention the bit of evidence that particularly rankled him -- the scratches next to the hardware that were deliberately shaped into a smiley face. Even so, the memory of them creeps up and deepens the frown on his face.

“If you say so,” Rogers commented. “I’m not one for heights, myself.”

“Not one of your  _ interests _ , Mr. Rogers?” Bucky snarked, before he could help himself. He pulled himself back into check as amusement bloomed across Rogers’ fine features. “Education is, though, isn’t it?”

“In general, yes?”

“I was thinking more so of the Masters in Architectural Engineering, with a specialty in civic design, that you achieved two years ago.” Bucky pulled out a copy of the class list he’d pulled, and then another document. “Personally, I’m most interested in the article you completed on protective systems in large-scale industrial building design.” He placed it neatly on top of the pictures.

“Well, well!” Rogers said, delightedly. “You have certainly done your homework, Agent Barnes. Your homework on  _ my  _ homework, I should say,” he continued, snickering. 

Bucky felt the twitch in his left eye grow larger.

“Oh, old projects brings up such fond school memories,” Rogers said, leaning forward to propping his chin up with a hand. His eyes drifted, seeming lost in memory. “Going to school in Chicago was such an excellent idea, I made so many new friends.” 

Hi glance cut to Bucky, peering up through his dark lashes. “Don’t you love making new friends, Agent Barnes? I’m a very social man.”

Bucky shuffled the folder back together, and dragged out the final several folders without a word.

“Oh, this looks like the best part!” Rogers said with anticipation, steadfastly ignoring Bucky’s glare.

  
  


_ One Month Previous _

“You have got to be  _ fucking kidding me _ ,” Bucky gritted out, staring at the hole in the ground. 

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing,” Maria said. “This is a first.” She walked around it, snapping pictures as she went to document the scene. 

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing deeply. 

Of all the ridiculous schemes he’d seen over the past few years, this one might take the cake. 

The back half of the money loan office was almost completely taken up by the gigantic hole in the ground, a rough but precise circle cut through the linoleum tiles. It was, presumably, where all the company’s computers and assets had disappeared last night. Assets, the local police had informed him, that were almost certainly illegally obtained by the blackmail scheme the owner had concocted and forced on all his already down on their luck clients. Nothing had yet appeared of these assets.

And so far, in the hour Bucky had been examining it, there was nothing pointing out any kind of obvious evidence of who could have done it. 

Two junior officers came rushing in as Bucky was contemplating. 

“We found out what they did with it, sir.”

“With… what?” Bucky asked blankly, caught off guard.

The two officers glanced at each other. “The… dirt, sir?”

Bucky sighed. He just  _ knew _ he wasn’t going to like this. “What did you find?”

“It was in the dumpsters, sir.”

“What? Show me.”

The officers led him outside to the three dumpsters parked behind the business strip. The lids of the dumpsters were open, and instead of the usual heap of trash, they were piled high with loose dirt and rock.

“Looks like everything they dug up went in here,” The first officer, a young but at least professional man, stated evenly. 

“And no one  _ noticed _ ? What about the garbage service?” Bucky asked incredulously. 

“Well…” The second officer continued. “Not really. Turns out the dumpsters are handled by a private waste company. Not public waste removal. And the company says their services were cancelled two months ago.”

Bucky frowned. “Why would the owners of the shopping centre cancel their own garbage service? And why didn’t the owners of the other shops complain.”

The officers shuffled a little.

Bucky sighed. “What is it,” he asked flatly.

The first officer coughed. “The owners of the shopping centre… don’t own these dumpsters.”

“What?”

“They’re privately owned by another body. So that’s also why the other shop owners didn’t complain. They put their garbage in other dumpsters.”

“And they all assumed the dumpsters were for another shop,” Bucky finished, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do we know who _ does _ own the dumpsters?”

“Oh yeah, we do!” The second officer said, looking a little cheerier. 

Bucky perked up. That was a good sign.

Maybe this wouldn’t be a headache, for once. 

_ 8 Days Later _

“So? Who owned the dumpsters?” Maria asked, signaling for another drink.

Bucky scrubbed his face. “Owners of the coffee shop down the street.”

“Ok,” Maria reasoned. “So did you get in touch with them?”

“Couldn’t. Coffee shop was closed down.”

Maria looked at him. “I didn’t see any empty storefronts while I was there.”

Bucky rolled his beer between his hands. “That would be because the day before the burglary, it  _ wasn’t _ closed down.”

“That seems… awfully convenient. Wait.” She held a hand up. “Is this going where I think it’s going?”

“Yep,” Bucky droned.

“So the tunnel led to --”

“The coffee shop, yep. The back room.”

“Ok,” Maria reasoned. “Surely the owners of the strip could give you the information of the owners of the shop.”

Bucky took a long drink of beer. “Well, they sure tried.”

Maria gave him a long look. “They  _ tried _ ?”

“Phone numbers for the owners were cancelled. Mailing address was a PO box. Email was a dead end. The owners live out of state most of the time too, so they’d only been into the shop themselves once. Didn’t even have a staff list.”

“Ugh,” Maria groaned. “Ok, then the bank must have information on them?”   
  


“Place was bought outright by a private individual. No mortgage on it, nothing owed. All their contact info turned out to be faked.”

“What about…” Maria was clearly grasping now. “What about people around the place, then? Didn’t anyone remember these people?”

“Apparently,” Bucky grit out, “They had weird hours and generally horrible coffee. So almost no one went in there. The best someone could tell me was ‘I think there might have been a redhead. Or maybe a blonde’.”

Maria swore, and took a swig of her beer. There was silence between them for a moment. 

“Cameras!” She interjected suddenly. “Security cameras! I  _ know _ the centre would have had them everywhere --”

“--Turned just  _ slightly _ away from the place, so you couldn’t actually see the entrance or exit,” Bucky finished.

“Well.” Maria said. “Fuck.”

“Yep,” Bucky said. He finished his beer, looking morosely down at the table. 

Suddenly, the bartender appeared in front of them, setting down two glasses of whiskey. 

“I didn’t ask for these,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

“Compliments of the gentleman down the bar,” the bartender shrugged, moving on. 

Bucky looked over, and stopped cold. 

Down the bar was the man he’d run into last year, the man that he  _ kept seeing _ . 

The old line from that book sang out in his head.

_ Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, but three times… _

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered to Maria, sliding off his stool.

He made his way down the bar and stopped a few feet away, waiting. 

The man was seated primly on the stool, legs crossed, enjoying a glass of what looked like an old fashioned. This time he was in a spotless blue suit, his hair smoothed back as crisply as ever. He noticed Bucky standing there, and turned to him. 

“Agent Barnes!” The man exclaimed, seeming delighted. “What a pleasant surprise. How are things? It has been some time.”

“It has,” Bucky answered. “Thank you for the drink, but I’m not much of a whiskey fan.”

“Drat,” the man said. “Usually I have fairly good intuition about things like that. Would you like something else?”

“No, thank you,” Bucky said. The silence stretched for a moment as they regarded each other.

“Are you in town for long, mister…” Bucky finally asked.

The man grinned at the obvious lead. “Oh, possibly, possibly. I had some business to take care of and it’s complete now, but I’m starting to like the place. My associates have also mentioned how much they enjoy the environment, so we shall see. All depends on the opportunities, you know.”

“And what sort of opportunities would those be?” Bucky asked. 

“This and that,” the man shrugged. “I like to keep my options open.” 

He stood. “In fact, I believe I will be late for a new opportunity if I dally here. I assume I’ll be seeing you around, Agent Barnes.” He tugged on the ends of his jacket sleeves, and moved to go.

Bucky looked him over one last time, and moved out of the way. The man strode past Bucky, heading towards the door. As he did so, a blond man and a redheaded woman, who Bucky was sure he’d seen before, joined him and followed him. 

Bucky turned to go back to Maria, when the man’s voice stopped him.

“Agent?”

Bucky turned. 

The man had one hand on the door to the bar, and was now flanked by his two companions. 

“It’s Rogers.”

With that, he turned and left the bar. 

_ Present _

Bucky attempted to pin Rogers with his gaze. Rogers grinned back at him. 

“My, my,” he commented. “I never thought I would learn so much about holes from an interrogation.”

“This isn’t an interrogation, Mr. Rogers. This is just a conversation. Unless there’s a reason it should be an interrogation?” Bucky asked.

“No, not at all. A friendly chat, just like you said.” Rogers said cheerily.

Bucky rifled through his papers in annoyance. “Of course we did discover the name of person who owned the coffee shop eventually, you should know.”

“Really?” Rogers asked. “And who would that be? Maybe I know them.”

“It was a Roger G. Stevensons,” Bucky said flatly. 

“Hmm,” Rogers said thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling. “Can’t say it rings any bells. I haven’t really been in town that long, afterall.”

“Seriously?” Bucky said, losing his patience. “Roger G. Stevensons? Your name is Steven Rogers! Are you kidding me?”

“You don’t need to raise your voice, Agent Barnes,” Rogers said disapprovingly. “Like I said, unfortunately I’ve never heard of the man. Now, were you trying to same something? The afternoon is starting to wear on.”

“My  _ point _ ,” Bucky said, “is that we have  _ several _ crime scenes now that we can tie to you. And a rather large stack of evidence.” He indicated the pile.

Rogers stared back at him, bemusement etched on his face. “Do you? Because nothing you’ve said so far seems to be particularly substantial. Places I’ve worked, degrees I’ve gotten, some interesting photos and a name that somewhat resembles mine. You must admit, Agent, it hardly seems to paint a picture.”

Bucky glared at him. “Doesn’t it? It seems fairly obvious to me.”

“What does?”

“That you’ve had a hand in every single one of these crimes. You’re a big part of this, and eventually it’ll come out exactly how.”

Rogers smiled, slow and deliberate as a shark. “Then you admit, at the moment, you have… nothing.”

They stared at each other, Bucky glaring and Rogers still smiling. 

Rogers stretched. “Well, like I said, the afternoon is getting on. My associates must be starting to wonder why this appointment is taking so long. If you have nothing further, I should really be getting along, I think.”

Bucky looked at his watch. It had been several hours, and unless he wanted to charge Rogers with something, there was no good reason to hold him. He stood, and motioned Rogers towards the door, opening it for him. 

Rogers got up, and made to move past Bucky, but stopped in the doorway.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “Like I said, I am a man of many opportunities. And I am always looking for good help with the opportunities, especially with smart men such as yourself.”

Bucky sighed. “I have a good job already, Mr. Rogers. On the right side of the law.”

Rogers looked up at him, piercing him with those blue eyes. He leaned in slightly. 

“Are you sure about that?” He whispered. “ _ Agent _ Barnes?”

Bucky got a whiff of his cologne, something dark and slightly spicy. 

He gulped, and looked away first. 

Rogers lightly touched him on his wrist, and left him standing in the doorway, feeling at a loss.

What the hell could that mean?

He found himself thinking about it as he cleaned up the documents, reassembling his file folders. He kept thinking about it as he straightened up the rest of the interrogation room, and made his way back to his cramped office. He turned it over and over in his mind as he continued to work that afternoon, trying to make sense of it. 

Distracted, he leaned back after several hours, and scrubbed his face. As he did, he realized there was something wrong with his wrist watch. It almost felt like something was… caught under it?

Bucky unbuckled the watch, and a piece of paper fluttered out from underneath it, coming to rest on the floor. Bucky looked at his wrist, then at the watch, and then the paper on the floor.

“...The hell?” He muttered, reaching down to pick it up.

He unfolded it, and found himself staring at the user ID and password for a Dropbox. 

Well.

He stood, and went to the door of his office. It looked like it had gotten late enough that everyone else had left for the evening, although there was a light on in his director’s office. That was normal though, the only person that worked longer hours than Bucky was the director and the janitor.

Bucky closed the door quietly, and went back to his computer.

He opened Dropbox and used the information on the paper to log in.

Dozens of documents populated the folder, including several pictures. 

Curious, he clicked one of the documents. 

It looked like a series of financial transactions… and wait. Was that an FBI purchase order number? Those were for big amounts. And they seemed like they were going to private individuals.

Bucky closed the document, and opened one of the picture files.

It was the back of a man’s head, so Bucky couldn’t place it right away, but he was leaned in close to another man Bucky  _ did _ recognize. It was Loki Laufeyson, son of one of the most prominent New York crime families. The two men were exchanging an envelope of something.

Bucky closed the picture, and then went to the top of the folder. He started opening the files, one after another. 

An hour later found Bucky leaning back in his seat. 

All of the documents and pictures, spreadsheets and data, all of it pointed to one thing -- huge corruption in the Bureau. He’d seen blurry picture after blurry picture of that man again, that he knew he recognized from somewhere, but couldn’t place. And he’d have to be fairly high ranking, to pull off all the things Bucky could see in here. So it didn’t make sense that he couldn’t figure out who it was. He was fairly certain the name he saw all over the documents was a pseudonym, but he couldn’t put together who it could stand for - Piotre Alexandria.

Who could that possibly be? And what the hell did Bucky do now?

“Bucky?” A voice interrupted, suddenly.

Bucky blinked, and looked up.

“You’re here late,” Director Pierce said from the doorway. 

“Oh,” Bucky said. He straightened, flicking his mouse to lock his screen instinctively.

_ Why did I do that _ ? He wondered.  _ I have nothing to hide from him _ .

“Yes, sir,” he continued. “Just clearing up some old files.”

“Always the hard nose, eh Barnes?” Pierce smiled at him. “How did it go?”

“It?” Bucky asked, furrowing his brow. Something in the back of his mind was starting to niggle at him.

“The interview with Rogers?” Pierce asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been setting up for it for weeks. Don’t tell me you didn’t get anything from it. You practically had every crime listed from start to finish in front of you.”

It hit Bucky like an avalanche. 

The man that Bucky knew he recognized from somewhere. The high ranking person in the FBI. 

Piotre Alexandria. 

_ Alexander Pierce. _

Bucky swallowed carefully.

“Yeah it went -- it went well,” he said. “Learned some interesting things. Probably have enough to put the picture together.” He made eye contact, careful not to blink.

“Good, good,” Pierce said, watching him. “You’ve worked hard on that. I’ll be seeing results from it soon, then?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky replied. 

Pierce knocked one hand on Bucky’s door. “I’ll look forward to it, then. Don’t stay here too late, got it? I still expect to see you bright and early tomorrow.”

“No, sir. Goodnight, sir.” Bucky said.

Pierce nodded, and left. 

Bucky waited a good ten minutes, and then got up, mind whirling.

There was huge corruption in the FBI, and Alexander Pierce was at the center of it. 

He had to tell somebody, and he’d need proof. He looked at his laptop. There would be evidence of what he’d seen on it, and Bucky wasn’t enough of a tech person that he could be sure he could wipe it enough to leave it around. 

Well, first things first. Every second he spent in this office made him look more suspicious - most agents didn’t stay this late. And he didn’t know where Pierce was. He needed to get out of here with the information, and figure out what to do with it when he was safe. 

Bucky gathered up his laptop carefully tucked the scrap of paper into his wallet. He made to leave, and then spotted the Rogers files on the desk. 

Surely it would look more suspicious if he  _ didn’t _ take them, correct? And if Rogers knew about Pierce, who knew what Pierce could do with those files on him.

And if Rogers could help him with this, it would make him an informant, not a criminal. He had to protect him.

Bucky grabbed it all, and made his way out. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw Pierce’s door closed and the light off, but didn’t let himself get complacent -- Pierce could be anywhere.

Bucky hurriedly made his way down to the parking garage, finding his car parked in its usual spot on one of the lower basement levels. He opened the trunk, and put everything inside, locking it. 

There was the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked directly behind him.

“That’s far enough, Agent Barnes.” Pierce’s voice rumbled out from behind him.

Bucky slowly turned. Pierce stood straight and calm behind him, holding a gun aimed directly at Bucky’s head. 

“Director Pierce?” He tried. “What -- what are you doing?”

“Don’t play dumb, Barnes. We both know you’re incapable of it.” Pierce said. “Like I won’t bother to tell you to leave this well enough alone -- I know you won’t.”

Bucky straightened, making eye contact. “No, sir. I can’t.”

Pierce sighed, shaking his head. “You really could have been one hell of an agent, you know that, Barnes? If you could have learned to let anything go. That’s what everyone says about you -- great guy, smart, full of potential. But stubborn! Dear God, stubborn. Like a bulldog, for christ’s sake.”

Bucky said nothing, staring him down.

“Anyways,” Pierce continued. “Come along. I had other plans for my night, and they still need to happen.” He flicked his gun towards the front of Bucky’s car.

Bucky stood firm. “Come along where, exactly? And why should I do a thing you say?”

Pierce rolled his eyes. “One, we’re getting in your car, so we can drive to somewhere less public. Two, you’re going to do it because if you don’t, I’m going to shoot you right here, right now. Don’t worry about the security cameras -- they’re conveniently turned elsewhere for the moment. Any other questions?”

Bucky opened his mouth to say something -- anything, he didn’t know what -- when there was a screech of metal, and the door to the stairwell opened. 

“I  _ do _ hope I’m interrupting something, gentlemen?” Steve Rogers asked, as he sauntered out.

Pierce immediately turned his gun on Rogers. “You were, in fact. But it’s not a problem -- I don’t mind getting rid of two birds with one stone.”

“Really?” Rogers asked, unconcerned. He drew up next to Bucky. “How well do you do with four birds, then?”

With a gentle thump, a redheaded woman descended from the rafters a few feet away. A shuffling noise behind him made Bucky turn, and a blond man rolled out from underneath of Bucky’s car. They came to stand on either side of Bucky and Rogers, pulling a taser and a gun, respectively. Bucky recognized them as the two from the bar. The redhead shot him a wink out of the corner of his eye.

Pierce regarded them, and then lowered his weapon. 

“That’s much better, isn’t it?” Rogers asked, tugging his shirt sleeves. “Your arms  _ must _ have been getting tired. In any case, we and Agent Barnes will be taking our leave, now. Clint, if you would be a dear and retrieve Agent Barnes’ belongings from his car?”

Bucky turned to give him the keys, but Clint had stuck something in the lock of the trunk and was easily popping it open. He handed Bucky’s briefcase over with a grin. Bucky noticed a lock tattooed on the back of his hand, and rolled his eyes, which only made Clint’s grin wider. 

“Excellent,” Rogers said as Bucky took his things in his arms. “We’ll be going now, thank you, Mr. Pierce.”

“Really?” Pierce said with a sneer. “You have all that manpower and you’re just going to  _ leave _ ? You think I’m going to leave any of you alone after this? You have no idea what you’re dealing with!”

Rogers leveled his gaze at him, the placid look falling away. 

“I think,” he said quietly, “that the easiest way of doing things here would be to kill you, Mr. Pierce.”

“I could have Clint shoot you,” he said dismissively. “He’s a very good shot. It would be quick. Or I could have Natasha strangle you. She is very effective, and it would be bloodless, less to clean up.”

“But,” he continued, “I have never been concerned with what is easiest.”

He took several precise steps, until he was right in front of Pierce. He put his hands in his pockets.

“I have only ever been concerned with what is  _ right _ , Mr. Pierce.”

“And what is right,” he said, staring into his eyes, “is taking apart your operation one step at a time, piece by piece, until it is gone and purged from existence. Until you have nothing left in the smoldering wreck of your life. Until you get the exact punishment you deserve, nothing more, and absolutely nothing less.”

Pierce stared at him, and then looked away. 

Steve turned back to them, and started walking towards the door to the stairwell. Bucky, feeling a little punch drunk, followed, with Natasha and Clint trailing and facing Pierce until they were all through the door. 

Steve led them up the stairs in silence, until they got to a level several floors higher than the original. He led them back out into the garage, and motioned Bucky towards the front of an SUV with darkly tinted windows. Clint took his things and he and Natasha climbed into the back, and Steve got into the passenger seat. Bucky got in, started the car, and made his way to the front of the garage.

“Trading up, Agent Barnes?” the security guard said in appreciation as Bucky pulled up to the exit. 

“Yeah, Wade,” Bucky replied. “Needed a little more room. Carpooling now.” He showed Wade his badge. Wade leaned in, and Bucky was completely unsurprised when the other three smiled and showed off their own impressively-real looking badges. Wade grinned, and waved them on. 

Bucky drove off, and for several moments, there was quiet. 

He cleared his throat. “Rogers --”

“Agent Barnes?” Rogers said, seeming not to hear him. “I would like to offer you a job.”

Bucky stared at him.

“What?”

Rogers grinned. “Well, like I said before. I have many opportunities I am looking into, and I find myself in need of more help than Natasha and Clint can provide - no offence, my friends.” He looked into the back seat.

Natasha shrugged from where she was cleaning her nails with a knife. Clint grinned again, and said, “None taken, boss.”

“We have a good operation going,” Rogers continued. “Clint handles technology and surveillance, Natasha handles the wetwork, and I handle the...:” he waved a hand, “Logistics.”

Bucky snorted.

Steve smiled. “But we could use a man of your intelligence and critical thinking skills to bring it all together. I said so this afternoon, did I not?”

Bucky eyed him, but said nothing. 

“We do good work, Agent Barnes.” Steve continued. “You have seen so, from the dossier you compiled on me. We make things  _ right _ .”

He said it with the same earth-shattering righteousness as when he’d threatened Pierce.

He looked at Bucky, and Bucky was caught up again in those blue eyes that shone with intelligence and humour and something deeper Bucky hadn’t figured out yet.

“Would you like to make things  _ right _ , Agent Barnes?” he asked.

Bucky looked away, back at the road. He considered all that had happened that afternoon, all that he knew of Steve from what he’d seen of him. What he joined the Bureau for, all those years ago now.

He looked back at Rogers - Steve, he guessed. 

“I guess it’s just Bucky, now, then.” He said slowly. 

Steve smiled. 

“Excellent. Shall we get started?”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Guys, this has been sitting in my laptop LONGER THAN I'VE BEEN WITH MY PARTNER. 
> 
> Wanna know how I know? Because on our third-ish date, I rambled about a fic I was attempting to write about a book I read about architectural burglary.
> 
> Crime and fanfiction, that's what relationships are made of folks.
> 
> Anyways.
> 
> This was super fun and possibly the most research I've put into a fic yet, which... is probably saying something. Oh well. If you're interested, the book was A Burglar's Guide to the City by Geoff Manaugh. Definitely a cool read if you like crime-adjacent things.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
